


a little more conversation

by callabang



Series: quiz fic [1]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Love Languages, M/M, Philadelphia Flyers, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 03:33:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19455472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callabang/pseuds/callabang
Summary: “Learn Your Love Language Today!” reads the website on Nolan’s phone. He’s drunk and he’s tapping out answers to this quiz in the back of an Uber, because this is his fucking life, apparently.





	a little more conversation

“Learn Your Love Language Today!” reads the website on Nolan’s phone. He’s drunk and he’s tapping out answers to this quiz in the back of an Uber, because this is his fucking life, apparently. TK is plastered to his side, craning over Nolan’s shoulder to get a glimpse at the screen. 

“Be honest, dude, it’s not gonna be accurate if you aren’t,” TK says. He has the page pulled up on his own phone, because Ivan -- who is not coming home from the bar with them, because he’s off having sickeningly romantic sex with his new girlfriend, or something -- put the quiz in the groupchat a few days earlier and TK has decided that now is the time for everyone to take it. 

Nolan muscles him away with the ease of a lot of practice. “Get off me, god.”

TK ignores the jostling, also with the ease of a lot of practice. “Whatever, bud, if you want your results to get fucked that’s fine by me.”

It’s hot in the car, and the light from Nolan’s phone screen feels glaring at this stage of intoxication. What’s up with these questions, anyway? Would he rather someone wash his dishes or massage his neck? Who came up with this shit?

He clicks through the last half just to get the thing done, and clicks “Finish” just as his shitty phone battery gives up the ghost and the screen goes black. Whatever.

He’s waiting for TK to finish, but TK has apparently decided to focus his usual weird drunken intensity on this dumb quiz, so he’s still tapping away when the uber drops them off at their building. 

“C’mon, dude,” Nolan says, basically hauling TK out of the car. Sometimes it’s handy that he’s so fucking short. “I wanna go to bed.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” TK says, stumbling into him a little when they get to the curb. He’s still looking at his phone, his face lit up white from below. It makes him look even more deranged then usual. Nolan gets a hand on the scruff of his neck and steers him inside and to the elevator.

“Night, Teeks,” he says when he gets off at his floor, leaving TK still tapping away inside. 

“Send me your results!” TK shouts back, and the door slides closed in his face. 

Inside his apartment, Nolan kicks his sneakers off, plugs his phone in, and collapses down onto the bed. He should probably drink some water, but it feels so good to be horizontal he can’t bring himself to move. Distantly, he hears his phone buzz to life on the nightstand.

 _Whatever_ , he thinks. He’ll deal with it in the morning.

…

The morning comes, a rare off day, and Nolan has, like, fifty missed texts, mostly in the group chat, and a hangover that’s all together not as bad as it could be. One of the texts is from TK, and he thumbs that one open to find a screenshot of TK’s quiz results. Apparently, words of affirmation is his number one love language, followed by quality time and physical touch.

 _Sure, bud,_ Nolan thinks, sending back a thumbs up and wandering to the kitchen for something to eat. Obviously, he has nothing in his fridge, because he never has anything in his fridge. He goes for his phone again. Luckily TK has already responded. 

_Breakfast ??????????????_

Nolan snorts and sends another thumbs up. 

At breakfast, TK takes a break from shoveling home fries into his mouth. 

“Yo, did you finish the quiz?”

“No,” Nolan says. He waits until he’s done chewing because he’s not a fucking goblin. “My phone died in the middle of it.”

“Lame,” TK says. He nabs some of Nolan’s hash browns.

“Stop, dude,” Nolan says, attempting to fend him off with his fork. “You have your own fucking hashbrowns.” 

TK nabs some more. “Get your eyes checked, Patty, these are home fries. Maybe I’m trying to widen my horizons to a different potato group.”

God, he’s so full of shit it’s unbelievable. Nolan slouches down on his side of the booth to extend a leg under the table and jams his foot into TK’s solar plexus. TK chokes on the hashbrowns.

The waitress is definitely looking at them, and Nolan really wants to be able to come back to this diner, so just watches TK while he splutters for breath while he helps himself to some of TK’s home fries.

…

Things are pretty much normal for the next few weeks, until the Flyers hit a losing streak. Nolan knows that it’s temporary and they’ll get their groove back soon, but truth be told it really just fucking sucks.

And what especially sucks is the way that TK kind of… wilts. 

Normally no one can get him to sit down or shut up no matter how they’re playing, but the last few days he’s just been listing around with none of his usual energy. Nothing seems to cheer him up -- not video games, not those really good soft pretzels from Reading Terminal, not even breaking the losing streak with a win against the Pens. Nolan’s starting to get -- not worried, exactly, but definitely pretty weirded out. 

And then he starts to think about the quiz.

Because who does TK spend most of his time with? Nolan, obviously. They live in the same building, they carpool to practice, they basically live in each other’s pockets 24/7. And Nolan knows he’s not the most talkative person, okay? Not in general, and definitely not compared to TK.

Normally that doesn’t matter, and TK seems perfectly content to talk up a storm while Nolan just hangs out and chills, and he doesn’t seem to particularly care whether Nolan participates or just listens to him run his mouth. But TK’s clearly having a rough go of it, and his number one love language is words of affirmation, and Nolan starts to think maybe he needs to start pulling some of the weight, here.

Because, like, not to be soft, but TK’s a really solid bro. There’s been a bunch of times where Nolan’s gotten stuck in his head and TK’s shown up for him, a solid, dependable presence capable of getting him back on track. And maybe TK’s in his own head a little bit, right now, and could use a bro himself. 

So Nolan makes the call.

…

The first time it’s excruciating, because it goes against literally every impulse Nolan has to deliberately articulate a feeling. But he shoulders through, because it’s TK, and TK needs him.

Nolan goes up to TK’s apartment before their game, like always, and tosses his tie for TK to take care of. He watches TK wrap it around his own collar, hands moving in the familiar pattern, and catches it when he finally tosses it back.

“Thanks, man,” he says, walking to the hall mirror and slipping the tie over his head. “I don’t know what I’d do if I had to do that myself.”

Nolan watches TK’s reflection; he’s smiling, just a little.

“Probably learn how to tie your own fucking tie, you non,” TK says, and it’s such a relief to hear him chirping that Nolan lets it slide without comment.

Since the first attempt was a moderate success, Nolan keeps it up. He gives TK a tap on the ass with his stick when he nets a wrister in their game that night, crows “Fucking beauty shot,” to watch the way it makes TK grin. The next time they go out to breakfast, Nolan texts, _idk dude you pick, you always choose good places,_ and gets a sunglass-wearing smiley face back. Nolan gets slammed hard into the boards, and TK drops gloves, which is par for the fucking course; but afterwards, Nolan puts him in a headlock -- easy, when he’s so fucking little -- and says, “Good to know you have my back, Teeks.” 

TK, who had been scrabbling against Nolan’s hold fruitlessly, finally pops his head free, and even though he looks like a total dumbass with his hair all messed up and his face red, the look of happy surprise on his face suits him.

It’s definitely working, Nolan is pleased to note. TK’s acting more like himself every day, and even though it’s maybe not 100% because Nolan is affirming him, or whatever, Nolan is definitely going to give himself some partial credit.

They have a four-day string of away games, a brutal slog that ends with them getting back to their apartment complex so late it’s gone all the way back around to early. TK follows Nolan out of the elevator and into his apartment, doesn’t seem to notice he’s not in his own place until he’s blinking at Nolan’s bed instead of his own.

“Whatever, I’m sleeping here,” he says, stripping down to his boxers and undershirt and crawling under the comforter on Nolan’s side. 

“Move over, that’s my side,” Nolan says, and when TK doesn’t Nolan shoves him bodily to the other side of the bed and climbs in himself. TK clings on to him like a barnacle, just to be annoying, but Nolan just lets out a deep, whole-body sigh and tolerates it.

“You sound like a dog when you do that,” TK says into his neck. His hair is all in Nolan’s mouth.

“You’re the dog, bud,” Nolan says, closing his eyes in the dark of the room. It’s quiet for a pretty long time, and Nolan is almost asleep when TK lets go and sits up beside him.

“Hey, Patty,” he whispers, and Nolan grunts. “Thanks for saying all that stuff. I think I needed to hear it.”

Nolan stiffens. “I didn’t know you noticed that.”

“You start saying nice things out of nowhere? Yeah, I noticed, bud,” TK says. Nolan can hear the smile in his voice and relaxes.

“Anything to get you to stop being such a sad sack,” he answers, and then TK is jabbing him in the ribs and Nolan jolts up.

“You’re such a fucking menace, god, I can’t--” he starts, but he’s cut off by the press of TK’s lips on his.

It’s nice, the kiss, and it goes on for a long time, or maybe it’s a bunch of kisses in a row. Nolan settles back on his elbows and lets TK direct, one of his hands cradling Nolan’s jaw. Finally, TK breaks off. They’re both breathing heavily in the darkness of Nolan’s bedroom. TK’s hand is still on him.

“I’m gonna make you finish the love languages quiz,” he whispers, and then Nolan’s too busy trying to smother TK with a pillow as he cackles maniacally to think about anything else. 

**Author's Note:**

> Learn your love language [today](https://www.5lovelanguages.com/)! 
> 
> Find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/callabang_)!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] a little more conversation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23286397) by [LittleRedRobinHood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleRedRobinHood/pseuds/LittleRedRobinHood)




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